


Lawrence Being Kinda Soft (And You Can't Stop Me)

by DellVanity



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Chronic Illness, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Wound Mention, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DellVanity/pseuds/DellVanity
Summary: Played BTD and BTD2 again, fell in love with Lawrence again, and wrote him being distinctly soft and still morbidly obsessed. Maybe too soft. He just wants to be completely depended on, which he got.I used bassiter’s music edits for most of this, but they're gone now! rip....
Relationships: Lawrence Oleander/Original Character
Kudos: 10





	1. Video Killed the Radio Star except Saffron is listening to it on an old radio while cleaning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Video Killed the Radio Star except in the attic](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/189400404002/video-killed-the-radio-star-by-the-buggles-except)

Things are changing quickly, but somehow you don’t seem to mind. Some concessions here, some firm “no”s there and suddenly it feels like you’re developing an actual relationship. Like you’re spreading your roots out, prodding and searching. Except all you find is Saffron lonely in the dirt and his own roots engulf yours and hold them firmly but gently. It’s comforting. He’s comforting. _He’s not leaving_.

The first request was a simple “Do you mind if I borrow this jacket?” which was easy enough to answer because it stayed tucked in some obscure corner of your closet that you completely forgot about which meant you never wore it. Saff didn’t seem to mind the slight musty smell or the dust though. Clearly, since he is currently wearing it. The first major request was if you were _okay_ with him playing music sometimes (“Softly of course.”) You said yes in turn (you’d like to think that’s only because Saffron has made absolutely no attempt to leave, instead opting to make himself cozy in your own apartment) so you spent an entire afternoon digging around your apartment for that old radio you abandoned long ago. Saffron was thrilled.

Right now, though, you’re struck with how much of a mistake that may have been. It hurts to be this attached. Right? Your _roommate_ is softly (almost distantly) playing Video Killed the Radio Star on that old radio as he cleans the apartment without disturbing too many of your possessions. Sweeping and dusting mostly. Things that would be nigh unnoticeable if you hadn’t seen him doing it. More importantly, you’re sitting in your bed distinctly trying to focus on a book only to be distracted by the soft padding of Saff’s feet on the floor as he quietly dances with the broom. He’s very lively for a man who died. _He’s very comfortable for a man who almost died here._

With his hair tied back into a ponytail that sways with his movements, you catch glimpses of red on the back of the bandage around his neck. It will take a while for that wound to heal, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He clearly doesn’t know his undead status, so that clearly wasn’t killing the pain, and you hadn’t made him any spiked tea (yet), so perhaps he was simply tougher than you give him credit for. He did survive all of that only to crack at the ending. _We’re putting the pieces back together_. You’re startled back into focus by the feeling of his eyes on you, so you bury your nose back in your book to pretend you aren’t blushing. _Today is a good day_.


	2. Stairway to Heaven except while Saffron is in the shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Stairway to Heaven except while you're in the shower](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/180393155656/stairway-to-heaven-by-led-zeppelin-except-blasting)

Have you mentioned that Saffron is a strange man? (Ironic, yes, you know.) It turns out, he listens to the music _almost_ all the time. You find that you don’t mind since it drowns out the noise of other people in the surrounding apartments. He doesn’t mind since he seems to always be looking for songs you will like (they’re always mellow things, or at least songs that aren’t terribly loud). Some song flows gently from the bathroom (door cracked open, “just to be sure” Saff said in that soft voice that placated your inner terror so well), dulled by the hum of the shower running. It distantly reminds you of a summer rain, it’s been a while since this area has had one. The extra humidity in the air makes you feel strangely lethargic and comfortable as you lounge on your bed. Whatever you were doing is lost to you as you just sit there and bask in the peaceful atmosphere. Saffron seems to be good at those.

_This song is pretty long_

you find yourself thinking through the haze of contentment. Even when the water shuts off and the music suddenly seems _loud_ , you don’t find it in yourself to mind. Saff is probably just… sitting there. Being at peace or whatever he does when he zones out like that.

_Maybe he needs you_

. He’d call if he needed you, so you don’t get up to help him. Even if he gets weak sometimes, he always has enough strength to call for you, so you let yourself accept the fact that right now he’s just happy sitting there. Just… sitting there in your apartment. Naked. Dripping wet. Surrounded by plants. The gentle “plonk” of drops falling into the drain are heard once the song ends, but Saffron grabbing a towel and wrapping himself up shushes that noise easily. You think you might be happy? 


	3. 17 except while cooking at night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [17 except while cooking at night](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/186388447722/17-by-kings-of-leon-except-on-the-radio-while-you)

You get precious few days off, really. So, when you come home from working all night (and dealing with that bastard), all you really want to do is just fall into bed. The rain outside does nothing to quell the growing embers in your belly, the feeling that you need to do _something_ to calm your nerves. And yet, the soft sound of rock music behind your own apartment door helps. Doubly so when you enter and find Saffron at the counter, peeling an onion with some trouble. He’s trying. It shakes some of the anger and bother off to see him _need you_. He smiles gently when you come over but doesn’t say anything as you take the onion from his hands. You can make dinner. He always ignores the bruises that appear on vegetables when you touch them briefly.

The rolling patter of the rain against the windowsills across the flat are as soothing as the music since you know Saffron is sitting (in that same wooden chair you confined him in not even a month ago), depending on you for something, _anything_. He’s a smart man, smart enough to put those pieces together since you never outright said you wanted him to act this way. It always makes you feel better to know he genuinely needs you, that there are things he _has_ to depend on you for. Living together has its perks, you realized. Watching him put his own mugs in your cabinet, leaving his slippers at the edge of the bed, being so cooperative, it’s all nice. But knowing he wants to depend on you is better. He won’t _leave_ then. You are two of the same and sometimes (only sometimes, you swear) you still want to hold his spine.

Sometimes you dream about it, you realize as the song ends and the rain suddenly seems to be too loud, too sharp on your nerves. You look back at Saffron helplessly, probably wild-eyed as you attempt to steady yourself and you’re met with his delicate smile. It’s bright enough to feed your plants and warm enough to wake the dead, it’s a simple thing. He gives it so easily. The song repeats on loop, only having paused for a second. _I’m not alone_. In the dreary light of your lonely apartment, Saffron is the warm bright comfort of the sun that seemed so out of reach before. It makes you want to crawl into his chest cavity and curl up beside that brilliant, warm light inside him, bloody and trembling for comfort.


	4. Homesick except while driving around town at night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Homesick except while driving around town at night](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/188617383074/homesick-by-radical-face-except-from-your-car)

Saffron trusts you. It’s a strange thing to hold in your hands, like you could shatter it so easily, but you get the feeling that it wouldn’t crumble in your fist. His trust is no fragile thing. You borrowed his truck to drive to his apartment, which he’d mostly cleaned of what he needed in a rush all those days ago. It turns out, unsurprisingly, that he’d forgotten things. Important things. The spring wind is a small comfort as you drive down the empty roads, easily overshadowed by that fragile trust you shoved deep into your own heart. You’re driving _his_ truck, his theoretical means of escape from you, to _his_ apartment, where he would theoretically be separated from you. He asked _you_ to do him a favor, clearly knowing you’d be more at ease picking things up for him than letting him leave alone to go to who knows where. The music dies when you turn the far off, leaving you only with the distant sound of insects and birds. It’s especially nice out tonight, you think. Cool breeze and all.


	5. Don't Stop Me Now except in a forest cabin, Bit by Bit except in the wildest thickets, Making Love Out of Nothing At All except while camping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Don't Stop Me Now excpet in a forest cabin](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/185666737675/dont-stop-me-now-by-queen-except-from-your)   
>  [Bit by Bit except in the wildest thickets](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/188415662846/bit-by-bit-by-mother-mother-except-from-an-old)   
>  [Making Love Out of Nothing At All except while camping](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/189259620606/making-love-out-of-nothing-at-all-by-air-supply)

Saffron makes the woods come alive. They’re still quiet and inviting, you still enjoy the occasional sight of a dead animal at a distance, but the crunch of leaves beside you and the soft breaths he releases make you feel distinctly alive somehow. Maybe you _are_ the woods, at that. He makes you feel alive. So, it’s not any surprise when he turns his music aaaaaall the way down and stuffs his phone into his pocket. It’s so small that you could ignore it, it does not drown out the distant owls and insect calls, but the energy it exudes makes the night feel…. Better. It’s almost the same energy Saff exudes. His shoulders bob comfortably as the two of you walk to the music.

He threads his arm through yours and you find his touch doesn’t startle you. His hands are cold and a soft pink at the tips of his delicate fingers, distinctly alive looking. He makes an offhanded comment that it’s easier to stay with you this way. You return that comment saying that you’d carry him. He just laughs knowingly and nods, letting the silence overtake the two of you again as you continue your walk. The song dies out when you reach a stream, the gentle babble of water doesn’t bother you anymore. As the two of you approach the clearing, Saff finally pulls away. He laughs and makes some joke that you try to ignore in favor of watching where exactly he’s going.

He returns with some sticks and leaves. He piles them together with careful hands and good intent before lighting them into a small fire to sit by. He idly warms his hands on the tiny fire and enjoys the ambient noise. You, of course, find your place beside him. It (predictably) takes him only a few minutes of nighttime silence to dig his phone out and play some relaxed yet rebellious song on its speaker. He sets his phone amongst the fallen leaves and leans over on your shoulder. A small part of your mind is drawn to the sounds of wildlife around you, to the soft grunting of what seems to be a beast in the woods, but you don’t care.

Saffron in his endless fatigue and neediness ignores whatever those noises are in favor of laying his head on your shoulder and eyes closed as he breathes the dewy, chilly air in deep. Whatever it is hiding in the woods is lost to you as his breathing evens out in his comfort. Instead of worried, you’re endlessly endeared when he shivers. He _needs_ your coat, so you wrap it around him before wrapping your arm around him as well. Some sappy love song comes on his phone, drowning out the too close insect chirps that would otherwise bother Saffron’s sleep. The dulcet tones of a love song seem to curl around the swaying trees and some small part of you wants to bury him in the soil just to know he’d always be there for you, right where you left him. You settle for your apartment though, where he can sit and wait for you and actually smile brightly when you come home.

_Is this love?_ That small part of your mind is intent on ruining your mood, it seems. If Saffron loves you then…. Good? If not then, well, he’s still _yours_? He can’t leave. He won’t. The more rational part of your mind tells you that your _roommate_ is too content to leave. Draws your attention back to his weight on your shoulder and replays the endless calls of your name on loop until you’re almost dizzy on the high of being desperately needed. Who cares if this isn’t love, Saff isn’t going anywhere. You wrap your arm tighter around him, careful not to disturb his sleep.


	6. To Noise Making (Sing) except in the kitchen at 4am, Goodmorning except at your friend's house in the morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [To Noise Making (Sing) except in the kitchen at 4am](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/189442073371/to-noise-making-sing-by-hozier-except-softly)   
>  [Goodmorning except at your friend's house in the morning](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/188615216272/goodmorning-by-the-bleachers-except-from-a-clock)

Saffron has insomnia. There’s no real need to dance around the issue, especially when he admits that being strapped to that chair was the only time he actually slept for more than a few hours at a time. It’s not really any surprise to wake up to him not at your side then, right? The initial panic subsides when you see him, sitting directly in your line of sight in _that_ chair, staring out the window at the city. The mug in his hands steams as he lifts it to his lips to silently take a sip, eyes transfixed somewhere in the distance. Even in the dead of day, he’s still there. It still pulls at your heart that he hasn’t tried to run. You know now that if you looked back at the door, you’d see all the locks in place. He’s so trusting.

His phone still croons some familiar song softly where he’s stuffed in in his sweater to muffle the already soft noise, making it a soft buzz to the noisy city outside. He hasn’t noticed you wake, and somehow that’s okay. He’s sitting at your window, beside your plants, drinking your tea. He looks as tired as he must feel, blinking slowly at the disgustingly awake sky. Your heart doesn’t like seeing him this unhappy, but he clearly got up and _made tea_ trying not to wake you up. _He doesn’t need you_. You try to settle back in to sleep. You have work tonight and as much as you’d love to skip it and miss seeing that asshole dogman, you’d rather keep your job longer. If you start skipping work to stay home now, you don’t know how you’d support Saff in the future. Even with your eyes closed, though, the sight of the red sore on the back of his neck is still vivid in your mind, which fills in the details of seeing his blood running down his neck again.

He gets up to put his mug in the sink, not sparing a glance at you. He must think you’re still asleep. He takes his seat at the window again when he returns, bringing his knees up to his chest as the song goes quiet, resting his arms on them as the chair creaks dangerously below him. His gently red hair bobs back and forth as he hums some distantly familiar song, probably something new that you haven’t heard before (he makes every song sound familiar, really), sweeping irritatingly across the back of the sweater he’s wearing like long red strands of his namesake, thick and tangled together as if he’d grown out of the ground in the wild like the flower. The only good thing about that flower is that it made Saff, that it brought something that belonged to _him_ now. You suppose you could buy him a purple sweater, a mimicry of that flower just to bring the image to surface again. As much as you like the image of him in the soil, you know you’d not put him _back_ in the ground.

Some song starts on his phone again, energetic and bright, making him bob his head more intently. He whispers something softly to the plants, the comforting shush of his unknown words falling over you. _He must feel bad today_. The comfortable hum of his voice with the music to match his enchantingly kind and gentle lilts lulls you back into a gentle snooze, knowing he will be there when you wake.


	7. Rebel Rebel except while sleeping in, Daydreamer except while waking up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Rebel Rebel except while sleeping in](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/182043659788/rebel-rebel-by-david-bowie-except-youre-cuddling)   
>  [Daydreamer except while waking up](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/189027016644/daydreamer-by-adele-except-from-a-car-thats-just)

It’s rare for it to rain in the winter, you realize as you finally awaken. It creates a consistent drumming against the windowpanes that almost drowns out the music sneaking out from under Saffron’s pillow, which both collectively almost drown out the soft sputtering breaths Saffron makes in his sleep. He must not be feeling well if he listened to music instead of trying to sleep. _Maybe he was watching you_. Your heart drums uncontrollably at the thought of him waking up bleary eyed and foggy, too miserable to get out of bed for the night. You shove his phone under your own pillow, so it doesn’t bother his sleep. He’s so forgetful when he gets like this, you have to wonder, will he even remember today when he recovers?

The rain thumps harder against the window in more aggressive drops, but you can’t find it in yourself to draw your comfort from it. Saff, in his uncurable illness and constant need, will awaken eventually and be clingy and needy and you can’t _wait_. He’ll probably sleep most of the night away, as he is wont to do when he has a flareup, but he’ll sleep with his head tucked against you and leeching your warmth desperately. He snores softly and shoves his face against his pillow, a shiver running up his spine. You’re kind enough to pull the blankets up (only after you run a finger across the fresh bandage on his back) and tuck him in.

Even asleep, even _snoring_ , he’s still brilliant and beautiful autumn colors. The bloody red of his sores and bandaged wounds, the soft oranges and reds of his hair, golden where the light directly hits. The soft crooning of some love song replaces the energetic beats of something from the 80’s or whenever, mostly dulled by your pillow. You can hear his even deep breaths and soft snores better now. His hands feel cool when you reach for them, threading your fingers together with his own rosy ones. If you don’t think, which is tempting to do when you’re cocooned in the comfort of your own bed with a man you can’t help but feel like you might… love (? If that’s what this feeling is, it might not be. Maybe it’s just contentedness), you almost feel like you’re a normal man, who met a person he genuinely loves (and is capable of actually loving) on a normal date where you had the normal courage to actually go meet someone, where you didn’t kidnap him, injure him, beat him, drive him to some insanity induced confession that he _died_ at one point and was therefore the same as you.

But no. Everything happened. It makes you feel better than the thought of meeting him normally, really. That he stayed after all of that is truly a testament to his ability to trust, to his will. That he still _suffers_ injuries at your hands (willingly now and suffer he does). That he lets you bandage him and care for those wounds (depends on you to, really), to keep them clean for his weakened immune system and natural physical weakness. The female singer’s voice pulls at the edges of your consciousness to draw you back to sleep as you watch him, knowing full well that he will soon wake up and need tea and his medicine, both for the aches and fatigue that accompany a flareup.


	8. Take On One In A Parallel Universe, Eye of the Tiger except in a Denny's parking lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Take On Me In A Parallel Universe](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/169577348071/whispers-and-stardust-sounddesignerjeans-you)   
>  [Eye of the Tiger except in a Denny's parking lot](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/186872914603/eye-of-the-tiger-by-survivor-except-playing-from-a)

The Denny’s is, thankfully, almost entirely empty when the both of you go out to eat. He laughed when you asked if he wanted to go, then sputtered to explain that he wasn’t laughing at you, just that he hadn’t been to a Denny’s _since he had been kicked out_. You demand to know the story when you two are eating, to which he agrees. It’s easy to forget he has a past before your apartment, especially since he doesn’t _have_ his own apartment anymore. The wait staff look dead inside as they serve the both of you, completely glazing over the way Saffron takes your hand over the table, lacing your fingers together as he launches into _another_ story about ‘a different breakfast diner’. You could listen to him forever, really.

The shitty overhead comm playing an 80’s song sounds amazingly bad, just as distant and low quality as the music that comes from Saff’s truck in the dead silence. It feels nostalgic somehow. Maybe that’s just because he’s been living with you for… almost a year now? It’s spring again, you think it’s been a year. You haven’t caught half his story, you don’t think he really cares, just that he likes to remind you that he’s _there_. Normally the talking would bother you, but the rumble of cars outside and the awkwardness of the wait staff are more easily brushed off with the sound of his voice, which is clearly desperate to keep your attention. His need for your attention and validating is intoxicating.

He only quiets when your food arrives, which only lasts a few minutes before he tells the story of, yes, how he got kicked out of a Denny’s with his friend Emil for a number of reasons that include him being too rowdy (which is believable considering how lively he is right now). He’s very energetic most nights, though he clearly restrains it in the apartment. It makes the days where he can’t sleep even harder, because he will inevitably want to get up that night to pace around or do _something_. The meal is dreadfully short, strangely. Normally you’d be ready to leave but watching him dance in his seat and eat while happily regaling you with _another_ story is enough to make you want this moment to continue just a _bit_ longer.

The sound of 80’s synth music fades as the two of you leave, Saff’s hands shoved in the pocket of your coat to warm them as the two of you make your way to his truck. He immediately (and predictably) turns on the radio the moment the two of you are inside. There’s a surprising number of people lingering in the parking lot, probably stopping on some long drive to who cares where. Saff chatters softly as Eye of the Tiger comes on, drowning out the revving of some asshole leaving the parking lot. The both of you take a moment to bask in the peace of a quiet night, Saffron bobbing his head back and forth as he watches a crowd gather across the parking lot. His face conveys absolutely no emotion other than warm joy as he watches the people.

He jokingly asks how weird it would be if the two of you were brought back as corpses instead of looking like living people as he starts the car, watching the distant fight break out. The song dies down to the sounds of rowdy patrons starting to brawl and you chuckle. You don’t know. This seems pretty weird, right?


	9. Through and Through except while drawing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Through and Through except while drawing](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/187607578007/through-and-through-by-khai-dreams-except-from-a)

Saff likes the rain. He leaves the window slightly cracked when he lounges at the end of your bed, some upbeat song drifting from the stomach of his sweater where he always stuffs his phone. An old drawing bad is balanced against his legs as he works, looking the picture of an idyllic life crowded by the plant at the end of your bed. Your own ambient noise blends well with the scribble of his pencil as you tend the plants. His own succulents are doing well, probably because they need so little water. You can feel his eyes trace up you now and again as he works, making no secret of his intentions or the subject of his drawing. Perhaps you’ll sneak a peek later.


	10. I'll Be Seeing You except dancing in your apartment, Lucky People except in a beach house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'll Be Seeing You except dancing in your apartment](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/189967947723/ill-be-seeing-you-by-billie-holiday-except)   
>  [Lucky People except in a beach house](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/188821684826/lucky-people-by-waterparks-except-from-the-radio)

For once, the music doesn’t come from your apartment, and it isn’t anything modern. Saff knows you’ve had a rough day, though he never asks the details when you come home in a bad mood. He’s foggy eyed and restless but makes no demands of you. You still made him tea for his aches and warm the shower for the both of you to use. You need to feel _something_ after such a long night, especially the feeling of being needed. He’s gracious, as always, and gives that warm tired smile, but doesn’t do much otherwise. Perhaps it’s a bad day for the both of you. He has those sometimes, you think. It’s hard to tell with how easily he smiles.

The music is coming from the neighbor above you, you think. You almost shout for him to turn it down, but…. Ambient music is a small comfort now, after so long of Saffron playing whatever he felt like you would like. You especially can’t bring yourself to do it when he comes over to you and takes your hands. An arm wrapped around his waist and one still clutched in his own as he makes the both of you start to sway. You haven’t danced in…. ever. You tell him that much. He smiles tiredly at you and tells you that it’s okay. It really is okay. A gentle sway and him leaning on you for your strength. The tension of your day ebbs away gently as the song continues. His breaths ghost your collarbones when he tucks his head against your neck, and you think that maybe tonight can be okay.

You’d collapse in bed when the song ends but Saff takes his phone out from god knows where in that sweater (which is starting to smell softly of honeysuckle just like him) and he plays one of his usual songs, something from the 2000’s that reeks of teenage emotion, but it’s okay. He just lays his head against you again and continues the ‘dance’ that the two of you have taken up.


	11. Jolene by Dolly Parton except its playing downstairs, Talk Me Down except while cuddling during a storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jolene by Dolly Parton except its playing downstairs](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/177125119611/robeblr-emanationman-benevolentvulture)   
>  [Talk Me Down except while cuddling during a storm](https://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/187991261148/talk-me-down-by-troye-sivan-except-during-a)

You think your neighbors are picking up Saff’s habits if the weird nocturnal activity and constant music is anything to go by. The people below you started to… _whatever_ they were doing earlier that night and had continued until unreasonable hours. It’s 4 in the morning! Others are trying to sleep! Not you, but others! Like Saff! Who is laying pitifully with his head in your lap. His flareups get worse when storms roll in, you learned. He becomes _chronically_ tired when one rolls in and he seems even more reluctant to get out of bed when it happens. Normally that would be okay, since you work, but now that you’re home to be bothered, it’s a problem. The people below you are making too much noise for Saff to comfortably sleep, no matter how fuzzy he’s feeling. You’d complain, he _needs_ his rest, but every time you glance from your book down at him, he’s softly mouthing along with that _fucking country song_ , eyes closed and looking utterly at peace as you card your fingers through his hair again. The soft patter of rain and occasional thunder usually lull him to sleep but instead act as a backing to the music, clearly keeping him awake. At least he’s not hurting.

He makes a soft unwilling noise when you move, but quiets when you gently pat his head. You almost feel merciful when the song winds down, but as you’d expected, it is replaced with another equally mournful _sounding_ song. You lay with Saffron and pull him close, carding your fingers back into his hair in an effort to comfort him. You suppose you can nap, if he falls asleep first. He likely will, he always does when the two of you lay like this during a storm. He winds an arm around you in return, gripping as tightly as his frail state will let him onto the back of your shirt as he scoots closer. You suppose the music is okay. It’s easier to take comfort in another’s presence during a rainy day, afterall.


End file.
